Where the wrong things are
by Epiphany Under Moonlight
Summary: The sequel to Nessa Veneanar's "Nothing But Red.". Every one has something they don't want others to know about. Something they've done, or said, or felt that they keep as their secret. Take a brief stroll through and see what they have been hiding


The Original Story or if you can't see the link check out Nessa Veneanar "Nothing But Red", if you really like this story you'll love what started it all....heh infomercial. 

She closed her eyes and dragged her teeth down viciously against her lip as the cool searing metal tore into delicate skin and ripped her apart.

...............mmmmmmm!

She had to hold in the scream, had to be so careful and quiet. She couldn't alert them, they couldn't know, they couldn't take it away from her! ...It was hers. It was the only thing she had that was hers, and she would keep it...she had to keep it...had to be so careful... she had been so careful.

But too late.

One already knew.

Threat. danger. Odd drifting thoughts.

"...but if you sleep with him he'll go away", it whispered.

And he would...she knew, hungry eyes couldn't lie. He wanted her body...

...so maybe then, maybe she would, he wanted it, she didn't care, maybe she would give herself to him...but first... first she couldn't scream.

No matter what and she opened her eyes to look down at what she had done.

What do you know?

There was still one thing about her that was beautiful.

Her pain, her blood.

It hurt, God yes, it hurt....hurt inside and out but, and she smiled as she made a small fist pushing herself even further, body still trembling despite how many times she'd done this before.

She shut her eyes again as everything peaked, the world shifting so violently beneath her feet, her stomach turning her mind dizzying.

Ohhhhhhhh.

...What a beautiful feeling, so high, so intense, still so new...almost virginal.

She sighed soflty, a simple peaceful joyous smile curving the softness of her lips temporarilly bringing back the angeliness to her face.

Still so new...a gentle laugh evanesced from her, wrapping itself around her lithe form, still so new despite everything...Thank God.

Thank God.

She knew you could get used to it, do it so much you no longer flinched, no longer felt anything...that's when you were closest to it...and she wanted it.

And she would be there soon.

She would force herself there, she would get it, finally get what she wanted. All it took...was practice and patience, last she had counted...this would be the seventy-sixth drag...in...one week.

Soon.

Soon she would master this game; this stupid stupid game she had been forced into.

Soon...all it took was patience and practice, she had had enough of both.

Slicing her wrists open was easy, she had a body that wouldn't die and a soul that was cracked in every corner, the pain given to her by razored metal was nothing compared to what she felt at every waking moment.

This was a pain she could order, she could do this everyday if she wanted. Every day by her own hand.

She could do it so easilly and without fear or hesitation, it was her ownly bit of happiness these days...was it any wonder that she cut herself so much?

It was not so simple as an addiction, it was a journey; slow and winding, purely destructive means leading to a purely destructive end...

But a pill as well, counsling without the payments. Cure the hunger, cure the insomnia, cure all the problems. Watch as the world mends itself...and-

She put the dagger away feeling that much better, she would make sure to clean it later, make sure to treasure and take care of her precious metal but for now she had work to do...and if she didn't hurry all her blood would be wasted.

And what was the point in that?

Better she leave her mark on the world before she left, better it be on the walls of this happy family than in some nowhere place where no one would remember her.

No. Never.

Everyone would remember this, her point would be proven, her story would line the pages of books about other crossed women who had been hurt, she would have her revenge no matter what it took...and bleeding out would get her there much quicker.

A means to an end...that was all, she had no mental defects or diseases, she was not suicidal...she was simply strong, she could handle taking somethign sharp and pointed to her own flesh without the need to stop.

...Besides...it kept him and his hungry eyes and seeking hands and his need away from her...and that alone made it worth every moment.

But it also made everything feel better. It fixed everything he had ruined, everything he continued to ruin, and made her feel in control again.

And that was the most important thing wasn't it?

Not the hurt feelings or ugly fights, the silly little make-up sessions and sad eyes staring her down...it was the power...the control.

Ahhhhh....she exhaled slowly feeling the slight pleasing burn in her chest.

So familiar, old friend.

Never hurt her, never made her cry.

The only true friend she had ever had.

It did for her what no one else had been able to.

And the best part of it all...the best part was Yami hadn't said a single word against it. He knew what she was doing, had seen it first hand with those arrogant red eyes of his and he had- ah heh, been stupid enough to say, weak enough to- it looks nice. The smile grew wider and wilder as her breathing grew more jagged and uneven.

It looks nice...

She could have laughed; she could have died laughing if she let herself.

It looks nice...hmmmm.

It was so hard to keep the giggles in, the pharoah was becoming..a husband again...a lover...how sweet...and one escaped past her lips bubbling in her throat and momentarilly lighting the room, a husband just as soon as she longer needed one.

So if he liked it so much, why shouldn't she paint the whole room this way?

Why shouldn't she paint all four walls of her prison to match her soul?

Why shouldn't her life and the lives of those that betrayed and kept her...be blood red?

No reason not to.

No one to stop her.

Never.

And the thick red ran down her hands in threaded rivulets eager to meet with solid form and mark tainted walls with fierce animalism; it's gruesomely authentic beauty hers, all hers.

Everything she had become with the help of others.

Hateful humans, family that was never really there, life that was too pathetic to bother with.

Culmination in the history

Her life, her death, her choice.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

And she was making the right decision, there was nothing left here for her anymore...just an uncertain afterlife waiting so patiently for her...and musn't keep death waiting.

So she would work...

She had brushes for the task ahead...to layer coat after coat onto the plain white walls no longer so white, and she used her fingers as well, for depth, for emphasis...satisfied and breathless as her hands worked their magick; damaged fingers creating circles and squares and symbals.

She was getting close, soon she could rest.

Soon she could sleep.

She so badly needed to sleep...close her eyes and just- no, not yet.

Not yet, not yet.

Just a little longer, just a little more...please.

Please...

Thank you.

There were times she even wrote words in and stared at her unconscious thoughts; amazed, horrified, saddened, and pleased...sometimes she painted over them again because she didn't want to know what was really hiding under the surface of her skin...other times...

She managed to unearth a marker and made her words that much stronger when she painted them black.

Black against red.

Rage against emptiness.

Perfection.

She took a step back to looked at it...it was so close to being perfect, so painfully close, blindingly close.

Almost...

yes.

So close to being her testimony.

...It only needed a few more things...just a little more blood, just a little more of her soul...and then when she was dead and there was no chance of being dragged back to this hell again...it would be perfect.

She would be perfect.

Pretty, peaceful, pale, and dead.

Just the way she wanted to be, just the way she had always wanted to be.

Ever since her first child died, ever since her first lover abused her.

Moments that had built up to this explosion.

...her explosion.

She sat down on her bed then and laid back, still smiling as her lashes; Lord they were so heavy, so heavy too tired; started to drift close and the blood welled from her wrist in slow unbroken ebbs.

It was better now.

Even though she was half-starved and her body was slowly digesting itself, howling for what she would not give. Even though she was nearly bled dry...and no doubt her son or idiotic husband would come later to bother her again and again never knowing, never understanding. Even though it hurt more than it should, became so terribly diseased and she cried for her own losses...even though it never left her alone...

It was better this way.

Better to be a monster...than to be something as weak and disgusting as what she had let herself become when the mortals had suppressed her...

Yes.

Because monsters had no need for crying...they had no need for anyone...or anything...monsters were perfect because...

...Because...

Just like her...and wasn't she...the undenial- defini tion of a monster...?

Wasn't she...

...Demon...

...She felt sleepy...

And the room was dark and red again and she could no longer smell her husband.

It was so much better now...

...than it had been before...

...now she could sleep.

And with that thought she faded into slow sickness and the old vampyere slept.

Please review! Please.....please please.


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